Vermont, Part II: The Briefcase

In an instant, he lost the ability to work, drive, and live on his own. Dad was 73 when the stroke changed his life; he lived for another 12 years, but that day in June 2001 was his last day of professional responsibilities. The briefcase had barely been touched, and it had been in my sister’s home since she’d moved in 2009. When we were decluttering her home a couple of weeks ago, she realized it was time to let go.

As we set up the table, tears came to my eyes. After teaching for three decades, Dad pivoted to financial planning and found great success, serving his clients well and enjoying financial security for the first time in his life. Elizabeth said, “Doing this together gives me permission to let go; I realize that I don’t need to keep holding onto this. I haven’t taken the time to go through it; that was a long time ago, and for some reason it’s been taking up real estate in my laundry room. I want to hold onto a piece of his professional person, but that was the beginning of the end and it’s sad to me.”

Most of the contents of the briefcase were just financial stuff, reflecting the realities of 2001. Some files and business cards, a few pens, a datebook. The papers in a file titled “Articles to Copy” were mostly financial in nature. But there was one article that caught my eye: a repeat of an Ann Landers column about maturity. Dad regularly copied articles to send to the four of us, and by the date I could see that he’d been holding onto this one for almost two years. As we finished cleaning out the case, I sent the picture of the article to our two siblings in Philadelphia; again, I teared up, recognizing that Dad was still speaking to us from the heart.